


Timeskip

by Starfog



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Human AU, Sans is a homeless chain-smoking time traveller who's trying to fix things basically, Time Travel, adittional warnings for violence ableism and brief misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starfog/pseuds/Starfog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this fic based on an AU idea by TheSketcherlass over on tumblr. Homeless Sans seeks cover in a yard, where he ends up involving himself with the life of a hurt kid, even though he knows he's not supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was based on this post by TheSketcherlass: http://thesketcherlass.tumblr.com/post/133555883924/  
> It's not exactly a happy AU, and thus this is generally not a very happy fic - it has its warm moments, but, pain is just what I do best, man.  
> I would like to apologize in advance.

The night was peaceful, still. Smoke stood from his mouth, even in the breaks where he didn’t have a cigarette between his teeth, white in the sharp air. A few of the windows in the yard were lit up, someone was talking in the apartment across from the fence where he sat.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, a lighter too, and shielded the flame with a hand. He was big-boned, and the sweathers and jackets could give an illusion of him being chubby, but the flame lit up his face, casting deep shadows, and the contours of his bones were clearly visible under the brown skin.

Then the cigarette caught fire, and he let go of the flame and let the darkness return, save for the small glowing dot. He inhaled deeply and puffed out smoke, then watching the tendrils curl towards the sky with an almost peaceful expression.

The voices in the apartment got louder, and he hesitated for a moment before sliding down from the fence and leaning up against it instead, a little less visible from the window, to avoid disgruntled middle class people calling the police on him because private property or whatever.

The voices turned into yelling. He cast a half-interested glance at the window, then made a mental shrug and concentrated on his cigarette.

A hard, dull thump made him look up again. He pulled himself a bit further into the shadows of the fence.

Silence. Then, a sharp slapping noise. A door was opened somewhere. He crouched down and butted his cigarette on the ground, stepping on the glow. A click, and the door above the small staircase was shut open, enabling him to hear what was said.

“… fucking little ungrateful- you come here and act like we’re gonna cradle to you, you little…”

A figure was thrown down the stairs by a tall, backlit person. The small one tumbled down the four stone steps and hit the ground below with hands and knees. Beside them fell an object, making a sharp, melodic sound.

“Yeah THAT’S right, get OUT of my home.” The figure turned, the door was shut.

He stood still, breathing as quietly as possible, watching the child in front of him. They couldn’t be much more than twelve. They turned around and sat against the last step, knees against their chest, rubbing their palm.

For a while, they just sat.

“Wow,” he said, making the kid look up with a jerk. “ That was … something.” He picked up the dead cigarette and looked at it, there was still a little left. The kid was staring at him, wide eyed. He put up his hands. “Hey, kiddo, don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you. You seem like you’ve been through plenty today.” He cast a glance at the door.

The kid was still staring at him, though they had stopped clawing at the ground behind them. Now they were holding their hand to their chest, rubbing it against their striped sweater.

He hesitated for a moment. “Here, let me look at that.”

He kneeled down and reached out a hand. The kid pulled back, staring. Then, slowly, they reached out their light brown palm and let him take it between his darker hands. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a slightly gross handkierchief, found a clean corner and licked it, then carefully cleaned dirt and tiny pebbles out of the child’s hand. They breathed sharply through their teeth, but didn’t cry or complain or pull away.

They extended their other hand by themself, and he took it and cleaned it as well.

He looked up at the apartment they had come from. There was still light anf muffled voices.

“Are you planning on going up there again?” He asked.

The kid looked down, pulling their hand back, picking up a stick and scratching the ground with it. Finally, they shook their head.

“‘Kay then, I’d suggest we get moving then, before that dude comes back to throw you down more stairs.” He shook the handkierchief and put it back in his pocket. Them he extended a hand. “C'mon, kiddo, I know someone who might offer us some scraps if we make particularly big puppy eyes.” He grinned widely.

The kid looked at his hand. Then, still with the stick in the other, they took it in a light grip and let him pull them off.

“So … you don’t talk, then?”

The kid looked down.

“I’ll take that as a no, then. Anyway, they call me Sans. And hey. Don’t worry. I have made it out here so far, you should be able to manahe just fine.” He grinned even wider, and after a moment, the kid gave him a meek smile back.

They exited the yard a few minutes before the back door was opened again, and a man searched the night with his eyes, then picked something up and went inside again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is a good guy, even when homeless and broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A calmer chapter, warnings only for smoking and food.

A fastfood zombie dragged himself out the back door with a trash bag, looked around him and then pulled up a cigarette and lit with swift movements. For a moment, his exhausted expression turned into that of slight satisfaction. When he walked to the trash can, his feet were dragging a little less than before. Before throwing in the bag, he leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“Slacking off again, eh, BP?”

The teenager almost leaped when Sans spoke, and coughed a few times to avoid choking on his cigarette. Then he sighed. “Goodness it’s just you.”

Once again, Sans’ smile turned into a grin. “I wouldn’t be so relieved if I was you, BP. Maybe I’ll stay quiet if you come with some tablescraps though.”

The teen wiped a hand across his face. “Sans, you know I get in trouble with the boss if he finds out.”

“I bet you’d be in trouble if he found out you’re taking out the trash to get a smoking break, too.” Sans’ grin didn’t change, but his eyes did, making the smile sinister.

“Sans…”

“Besides,” he said and moved to the side. “It’s not for me this time.”  
They sunk their head when they came into sight, pulling up their shoulders and clinging to Sans’ sleeve. The boy Sans called BP looked at them with an unreadable expression, cigarette slightly trembling. Then he sighed deeply, whipped the trash bag into the container and turned to Sans.

“What do you want?”

“Just…” he made a hand gun. “ _Fry us up_.”

The teen groaned audibly and facepalmed. The kid let out a slight giggle, making Sans look down and smile even wider.

The teen threw his cigarette on the ground and went inside again.

Sans went over and picked up the still burning cigarette stump. “Recycling,” he grinned at the kid and took a whiff. They smiled a little. He patted their shoulder (he was only a little taller than they were, he noted). “Don’t worry, BP is a good guy. Wouldn’t let a poor kid like you go hungry.”

They waited a few minutes before the teen pushed open the back door again. “Here’s what I could find, some guy who didn’t finish his meal and like, a burger there was complained about? Because it wasn’t supposed to be a cheeseburger or something. Please just … hide the tray over there.” He pointed at the container. “I’ll get it later.”

“Aw, thanks, BP, you’re a champ.”

The teen shrugged. He handed the tray to Sans, smiled at the kid, who gave him a cautious one back, and then he went back into the restaurant and closed the door behind him.

Sans sat down on the doorstep. “Let’s see what we got here. Yup, a greasy cheeseburger, some cold fries,” he replaced the cigarette with a fry and spoke on while chewing, “’nd a few nuggets. Dig in, kiddo.”

The kid looked at the tray. They reached out and took a nugget, like they were afraid it would disappear or break under their touch. Sans grinned and took another fry. “No ketchup though, that’s a shame.”

The kid shrugged and took a bite out of their nugget. After the first mouthful was swallowed, the rest disappeared quickly, and they reached out for the next one. Sans pushed the burger over to their side of the tray. “Here, take this too. Otherwise you’ll just get stuck at that height, like me.” He grinned and grabbed a few more fries.

The kid smiled, this time widely enough to show their teeth, and took the burger. Sand emptied the fry tray while they were eating.

After about two thirds of the burger was gone, the kid slowed down, picking at the bun while looking at it. Sans put down the tray on the ground beside him.

“What’s up, kiddo? Does it scare you? Did BP give you a _boo-rger_?”

The kid grinned, but their expression soon fell. Sans watched them, feeling his own smile getting a bit smaller.

Then they looked up at him, and reached the half-eaten food towards Sans.

“For me?” Something inside him turned warm and fuzzy, and then there was a small sting of something that hurt, because someone else used to share food with him, and it showed on his face. 

The kid looked down. Sans picked himself up from the memories at the sight and quickly replied.

“Aw, thanks, kiddo.” 

They didn’t look up, so he carefully took the burger from their hands. First then did they meet his eyes, with a small smile. He returned it while biting into the discarded piece of fast food. A mischievous glimpse appeared in his eye, and he pulled the burger from the greasy paper, took two bites from each side, creating a half moon, that he then held in front of his face. 

“I win at smiling!”

The kid made a face, but their small, dark eyes were gleaming. They reached out to the empty fry tray, and with a few quick movements, they had made a greasy cardboard-smile bigger than their own face.

Sans laughed. “Okay, I can’t beat that. But check this out!”

He pulled a bit of the top bun and turned it so the sticky inside was visible, and held it above his lip. “I have a _mustard-che_.”

The kid snickered. Without thinking of their company, they signed _watch this_ , and curled the fry-tray smile into a bike-handle moustache.

Sans made a theatrically surprised face. “Oh no! There was a kid a moment ago, but now they disappeared, and there’s this weird man with a moustache instead!”

They laughed. He gave them a light punch on the shoulder. “Nah, don’t worry, I knew it was you. Your disguise is _paper thin_.”

This time, they broke down giggling, and Sans couldn’t help but genuinely laugh too.

Papyrus would have liked this kid …

And for the first time in months, the thought didn’t manage to entirely kill off his smile.

The faraway sound of cars was a low humming. The kid picked a few crumbs from the tray, ate the biggest ones and flicked the others off their finger and across the street. They yawned.

Sans finished off his burger. “Here, kiddo, I know somewhere where you can sleep tonight.”

He hid the tray where BP had requested, and took the kid by their hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A homeless chain-smoker might not be the best to take care of a kid after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this one is only smoking. And emotions?

He pressed the doorbell to third floor and waited until a soft, melodic voice answered.

“Yes, who is it?”

“Um, hey Tori, could you maybe let me into the yard?”  
There was a short pause. “Sans, you … know the landlord isn’t … happy with you being here, since the whole, um-”

“I know, Tori, I know, but it’s really important this time.”

She hesitated.

“Five minutes and I’ll be on my way, you don’t even have to let me in.” ‘His voice was pleading. The kid tightened their grip on his left hand, the thin fingers cold against his palm.

A sigh. “All right then.”

“You’re an _angel,_ Toriel.”

A flustered snicker was cut off, and the speaker went silent.

“C’mon, kiddo, there’s someone I want you to meet. She’s studying to become a teacher, she’s great with kids.” He pulled them with him. Their previously so eager steps were slower now, Sans almost felt like he was dragging them to keep them moving. Like if he stopped they would too, and stand their ground.

They stopped at the gate. “Hey, kiddo? You okay?” They looked down. A slight sniffle escaped them. Sans put his hands on their shoulders. “Hey, don’t cry. It’s just for the night, all right? If you don’t like her, we’ll find you another place to stay.” He wiped a tear from their cheek. “Look, sleeping outside in this cold is not something a child should have to do. Especially not in just a sweater.” They tightened up their face, trying to keep back their tears. Sans felt a sting in his guts. “I- I’ll come back tomorrow, all right?”

They sniffled once, brushed their sleeve across their face, and then nodded.

The gate was opened, and a tall lady peeked out, dressed in purple with a large, white headscarf draped around her head. She looked tired. Or concerned. 

“Sans, what is-” her face changed to surprised. “Who’s that?”

Sans gave her a broad smile and took the kid’s hand. “Hi, Toriel! This is…” he paused. “I actually don’t know their name, they don’t really speak.”

The lady bent down to look the child in the eyes (the top of Sans’ head didn’t even reach to her shoulders) and smiled. “Hey there, little one.”

They clutched their hands in front of their chest and looked at their shoes. Toriel gave a small laugh. “Shy, are we? That’s all right. I am quite intimidating, fter all.”

She laughed at this, and the kid looked up through their bangs and smiled just a little. The woman, though tall, was all curves and smiles and wouldn’t scare a rabbit.

“They were thrown out by their … parent? Caretaker?” Sans looked at the kid, who shook their head. “Well, anyway, I mean literally thrown. I honestly don’t think it’s safe for them to go back, and …”

He drifted off. Toriel’s expression was pained.

“Oh, dear. Good thing Sans was there to help you, he has a way of being there when you need him most.” Sans’ grin got a little broader, but also slightly less confident. “Have you gotten anything to eat?” The kid nodded, looking up for real for the first time. “Yes, good, good, he’s taken care of you, of course he has. Come on in, let’s find a place where you can sleep.”

Sans thrust his hands into his pockets. “Well then, I … I’m coming to check up on them tomorrow, so if you can make sure the landlord isn’t there, that would be swell.” He grinned, as to signify that it was meant as a joke, shifting his weight to one foot.

“Don’t worry, he’s never here on Saturdays.” She extended her arms to the kid. After a moment of hesitation, they stepped over to her, and she picked them up and held them at her shoulder. they yawned. “Thanks, Sans.”

“Heh. Nothing to thank for.” He rubbed his left foot against the side of the other.

“That’s not true. It means a lot.” She smiled, and he grinned back. “We’ll see each other tomorrow, then. After nine, Sans, it’s in the middle of the night and the child needs a good night’s rest.”

He gave her a lazy salute. “Got it. And, hey, Thanks, Tori.”

The child turned their head and looked at Sans. He waved. “Sleep well, kiddo.”  
They smiled and waved back. Toriel carried them through the gate, and the heavy oak slammed shut behind them, leaving Sans outside in the dark.

His left hand felt empty.

* * *

 

He could feel the sleepiness fight its way through the sharp cold of the night. Tomorrow, he had promised. Hopefully by then, Toriel had showered the kid with so many snuggles and treats and bedtime stories that they would be positively endeared and never want to leave again. Maybe he could even com visit now and then. It would be nice to have someone to talk to again. Toriel really missed having children. Maybe it could even feel like kind of having a family again.

It stung. He clutched his chest, grabbing the fabric of that jacket, but the sob still came. He rubbed his eyes with an aggressive hand, but the thought of his brother had found its way into his mind, and he knew very well that when he didn’t manage to suppress it, it stuck.

He snuck into an alleyway, found a doorstep to curl into, and tried to catch most of the sobs in his jacket. His whole body ached as memories flooded back, Papyrus facepalming at Sans’ puns, his awful attempts at cooking that Sans did his absolute best to eat anyway, his hard work that had enabled them to pay rent.

His fingers automatically crawled up to his chest, feeling the contraption under his jacket. For the fifth hundred time, he cursed it, and he cursed himself, and he cursed the world, and then he began crying once again at full strength.  
He had to go and get the exact information of what happened at that exact place if he had to undo it all. Toriel didn’t know that. If she did … she probably wouldn’t want him to be too close to the kid. What he had to do to get this information was … not exactly legal. But he had to, to avoid everything entangling even more than his previous shenanigans had already caused it to be.

He couldn’t do this with a kid to be there for, not even if it was once a week. Interfering had been a mistake in the first place. He slapped his own face. What if the parent or whatever they were, of that kid, got Toriel in trouble?

The best option would be to disappear. Be a disappointment. Let the kid be sad and Toriel be angry about the broken promise, get the info, and go back to fix … things.

Toriel would take care of them.

The thought of ditching the kid felt like a stab in the guts. They had stopped crying when he promised to be back. He bit his lip. He’d known them for less than three hours, and yet … 

He couldn’t.

If he wanted to get out of this kid’s life, he couldn’t have been in in in the first place.

Tomorrow, he decided. He would go back and say hi, give the poor child a bit of laugher, a bit of trust. Not that they would be able to remember anything, but …

Well, worth doing anyway, he thought to himself, and then he dropped the subject, because he didn’t want to explain to himself why he thought so.

He got up from the cold doorstep and began walking, hands deep in the pockets. fumbling for a cigarette. He lit it as he walked down the street, looking for a bit of shelter where he might be able to dose off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that he doesn't WANT to be a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for smoking, food, and mentions of violence (stabbing)

He pressed the button to Toriel’s apartment, and the door buzzed immediately, letting him in. He rushed up the stairs where Toriel stood in the door. He slid in, and she closed the door after him.

The kid’s face lit up when they saw him.

“Morning, kiddo.” He grinned. “Missed me much- oof!” They had rushed to his side and trapped him in a tight hug. “Heh. Y’know what, I missed you too.” He ruffled their hair.

“Your timing is perfect, as always. The pie’s done in five minutes, Frisk’s been very helpful.” She put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, rubbing it gently.

“Frisk?”

The kid nodded eagerly.

“They spelled out their name for me,” Toriel explained. “They’re quite good at spelling.”

The kid, Frisk, gave a shy smile and hid their face on Toriel’s dress. She laughed. “Now, Sans, why don’t you take off those dirty shoes and come on in.” She looked at his feet with slight disapproval, “you really need to tie those shoelaces.”

“I thought you told me to take my shoes off.”

Toriel rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but return his smile. Frisk giggled too.  
Sans slid off his sneakers and followed Frisk, who had taken him by the hand, into the living room. He pulled out a chair and glanced over the assortment of papers scattered on the table. Most of them were drawings, some were words, written with a careful and slightly clumsy hand. The drawings were quite good, Sans noted, turning one of a yellow flower so he didn’t have to look at it upside down.

Toriel came back with a pie in a towel between her hands. Frisk jumped from their chair, pushed aside the sheets of paper, and Toriel folded the fabric and placed the still steaming pie on the table.

“Frisk, dear, can you find some plates?”

Sans sat a bit more upright. “I could also just …?”

“No, no, just sit back and relax. You must have had quite the night, taking care of the dear child.”

Frisk was already off. Sans mumbled something about them more or less taking care of himself and that he just did his, face half-hidden in the jacket.

“Sans, dear, please take your coat off and hang it in the hall. The child needs to learn some manners.”

Sans shrugged with a grin. It went sour and died midways, and he hurriedly turned around to pull off his jacket before Toriel noticed. What Toriel did for the child now would make no difference whatsoever.

He pushed aside the question of why he was here then, and rushed to the hallway to hang his jacket.

The smell of butterscotch and cinnamon intensified, telling Sans that Toriel had cut the pie. He hesitated for a moment, placing his fingers on the odd shape in his inner pocket.

“Sans? The pie’s ready.”

He took half a step, then stopped, turned, covered the bump up with a sleeve, and then turned to the living room again.

“Mmm, smells heavenly,” he said.

Toriel smiled and gave him a piece. ”You say that every time.”

“That’s because it’s true every time.”

He gave a smile and dug into the pie. It was still steaming. This didn’t seem to bother Frisk at all, they had already finished off half their piece. Toriel cut herself a piece and sat down beside them, across from Sans.

“So, Sans. What else have you been up to since you were expelled from my yard last time?” 

She smiled at him, a glimpse in her eyes, and Sans, being without his jacket, was unable to hide his blushing. He took a bite out of his pie, suddenly very focused on his fork, and shrugged. “Just the usual, y’know.”

“Sans, no speaking with your mouth full.”

He sunk. “Look, if you’re trying to protect the kid from my bad influence, I am afraid _that_ bit is a little too late.”

Frisk took their fork and placed it above their lip, holding it in place with a silly expression. Sans laughed, Toriel giggled and gave their head a rub. 

“You’re so sweet, my child.”

Sans and Toriel had a bit of chit-chat across the table while eating. Toriel was quick to give them both an extra slice, and while Sans finished his, Frisk pushed aside their plate and grabbed pencil and paper again.

Sans found himself lingering after finishing his pie, listening to Toriel’s chatter about this and that and everyday things, finding the situation unbelievably comforting. Frisk was scribbling eagerly. Sans cast them a glance, feeling a familiar happiness raise that had been dormant for quite a while. For too long.

He looked at his empty plate, biting his lip.

“Sans?” Toriel asked as he pushed out his chair.

He forced forth a smile. “As much as I’d like to just stay here all day, I’ve got things to look after.”

Frisk lashed out over the table, grabbing the drawing of the yellow flower, flipping it over, and scribbling down four words.

Will you be back?

He looked at the words for a few seconds, blinked, and gave a grin. “Do you think I’d leave you two to eat all this pie by yourself? No way. Even I am intimidated by the size of that thing.”

Toriel laughed again, her laugh was soft and light with just a bit of roughness if she kept it long enough. Sans knew by experience that a particularly bad knock-knock joke could sometimes make her go over in gigglesnorting. The smile got bigger at the memory.

“Anyway, see ya, kiddo. And you too, Tori. Thanks for letting me in, by the way.” He went to the hallway and pulled on his jacket.

“Remember to tie those shoelaces!” Tori called from the living room.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

“Don’t you sass me, Sans.”

He could hear she was smiling, all the way from the kitchen where she was carrying the rest of the pie.

Frisk stepped into the hallway as Sans slid on his shoes.

“Wassup, kiddo?”

They pointed at his shoes.

“Yes, yes, geesh, I’m getting to it.” 

He ruffled their hair, then tied a lazy bow on his left shoe. They looked at him, then jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly. He hesitated for a moment before returning it.

“You’re a good kid, Frisk.”

He pulled away, waved at them, and exited the apartment. The door closed behind him, and despite that he’d rather nobody else in the apartment complex saw him here and complained to the  landlord, he stood and looked at the door for quite a few moments.

It’s better this way, he thought.

But that did not soothe the stinging in his guts.

* * *

He exited the apartment building with a cigarette in his hand and lit it as soon as he was outside. Toriel would give him her stern look if she knew he still had that habit, he thought, taking a drag of the cigarette.

It should be easy enough to find some hideout in a garden or something where nobody would see him, especially since he just had to keep them from stopping him, everything else after that … well.

At least he knew the routine by now.

A door slammed behind him. He sped up, hoping it wasn’t someone from Toriel’s apartment building who had seen him be there.

He trekked past the cafés, resisting the urge to turn the first corner and head to Grillby’s. This had to be done as fast as possible, before he decided to back out of it.

Though …

The kid was happy, weren’t they? Toriel was happy. She’d needed someone to take care of, after the whole ordeal so many years ago. Sans felt a sting of guilt, even though that part technically had nothing to do with him and his breaking havoc.

He’d done a good thing for the kid, hadn’t he? The safest was to undo any sort of interference with people he didn’t already know, but …

He stopped. He would have to go back, after this. All this would be undone. And if it didn’t, that would mean Sans had made a major messup along the line that he would have to clean up, adding additional strain on the timelines. And Papyrus’ chances.

He groaned in frustration and slapped his face. “Bloody hell.”

Something tugged on his sleeve. He turned around with a start, staggering back and pressing himself against a wall.

“Kid! What … what are you doing here? Why … why aren’t you with Toriel?”  
Frisk looked at him, then at their shoes, and back up. They reached out, grabbing his sleeve loosely, with two fingers. Like they knew he was going to leave.

He made a face. “Look, kid, I promised to come back, didn’t I?” They looked at him, small, dark eyes filled with sadness. He sighed and put his hand over theirs, carefully limping it from his sleeve. “Kiddo. This is not a life for a child. Really, it’s not. You deserve happiness. Safety. A warm place to be, proper food to eat, someone who … someone who will make a proper family. I like you, kid, I really do, but …” He gave them a smile. “I’m a homeless chain smoker who doesn’t tie his shoes. I’m not a good influence.”

They gave him a glare, eyes still filled with sadness. His smile trembled. He put a hand on their shoulder and looked them in the eyes. “I wish I could stay, kiddo, I really do. But I need to help my brother.” He let go, turned, and walked up the street, looking at the stones under his feet.

A light papping on the sidewalk told him that the kid was following. He glanced over his shoulder.

“You should really get back home. Toriel is wonderful, but she’s not nice to be around when she’s angry, kid.”

The kid moved up beside him. He stopped with a sigh.

“Okay, come on. I’ll … I’ll explain this whole thing a little better.”

* * *

Grillby’s was filled with enough chatter that Sans and Frisk would drown in the sounds, but peaceful enough that Sans would be able to explain without shouting. He patted on a seat beside him at the counter, and Frisk climbed up there. The man behind the counter looked up from the glass he was polishing and lifted a hand in greeting, smiling. He was a grown man, but his hair was coloured shocking orange with red stripes, contrasting sharply with his well-fitting suit. Sans waved back.

“So,” he said, “Um, I think of child friendly stuff, they got burgers and fries and that’s about it. Whaddya want?”

Frisk sent him a flat glare.

“Oh. Um. Fries?” They thought for a moment, then shook their head. “Burger?” 

They nodded. “Very well then, sounds good to me. Grillbz, can we get two burgers?”

The man behind the counter put down the glass and gave Sans a thumbs-up before disappearing to the back.

Sans sighed deeply. “So. Look, I’m sorry about this whole thing, I really am. But. I kind of have to stay  under cover, for now.” Frisk looked at him, eyebrows raised just a notch. “No, I’m not telling you why. But don’t worry, the police isn’t after me or anything. It’s just best if people around here … doesn’t grow too attached to me.”

Toriel had been both angry and disappointed last time he disappeared for three months without warning. It had taken her two weeks to even want to talk to him again. Thinking about it, Grillbz was the only one who never seemed to mind his disappearances, only greeting Sans warmly when he came back.

“Anyway.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I have a brother. And he’s in trouble. And … and it’s my fault.” He folded his hands on the counter in front of him. “Remember what I said about being a bad influence?” Frisk didn’t react, just listened. “People count on me. And then they I let them down, and they get worried, and then they go out of their way to find out what’s happening, and sometimes that means they end up in the wrong place at the wrong time and …” 

He bit his lip, staring at his hands in front of him. His stomach turned into a hard knot. When Grillbz came with the food, it was a struggle to even look up and thank. Frisk put a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made a smile force itself through Sans’ sadness. He coughed lightly.

“Anyway, I went back and forth and did some things, and before I knew I forgot to keep track of what I had done, and also I had been away from him a whole year and in the meantime he’d gotten a task in another city at the police and got stabbed by someone that nobody knows who is. So I have been trying to find out who did it, and why, and … make sure it doesn’t happen again.”  
He was staring at his food without seeing it. Frisk leaned over the counter to get eye contact. They had to poke his arm to make him return to reality.  
He sniffled, then pulled himself together. When he looked at the kid, their brown eyes were large, and there was real sympathy in their gaze. He forced forth a smile.

“I would love to be a family, Frisk. I really would. But I already have a family, and I need to fix it.”

He saw the tears welling up in their eyes, and the amount of cold knifes stabbing in his guts was uncountable. But they sniffled, and nodded, like they understood, and then they leaned over and wrapped their arms around him. Sans patted their hair and squeezed their arm.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

They pulled back, smiled through their tears, and nodded. Then they slid from their chair, grabbed his hands for a short moment, and then turned, and left.  
Sans’ smiled through his own tears, feeling the pain show on his face.

It was better this way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where things get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heavy one. Warnings for smoking, violence, child abuse, blood, murder, inciplit misgendering and ableism.
> 
> I was listening to this song when writing the first part, feel free to listen along: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJUmUm6QKBI

It had been five days where he had graciously avoided all forms of unnecessary interaction with new people. It still hadn’t happened yet, or nobody had caught wind of it. Waiting was the worst, just sitting around, hoping he would somehow come across an exact time so he could jump back and stop it. He was sitting on a bench, legs pulled up to the chest, in the dark night, trying to keep warm in the empty park.

At least, he had thought it was empty.

“Sans?”

He almost fell from the bench. “Toriel! What … what are you doing here?”  
She grabbed the sides of her dress and stretched it as she sat down, placing any spare fabric in her lap. Her headscarf almost seemed glowing in the night. 

“I asked your friend at the bar where you might be. He told me you went here when in need of peace.”

“Grillbz, you traitor,” he mumbled.

“Who said I gave him a choice?” She gave Sans a glance, smiling lightly. Then her face got serious again. “Frisk misses you.”

Sans looked down and didn’t answer. Toriel gave him a few moments before she spoke again.

“Ever since you visited, and they ran off … of course I got concerned. And angry. But they came back, and apologized. They are a good child. They told me that they had talked with you. And that you had said you wouldn’t come anymore.” Her voice turned cold as the night’s air.

Sans looked up. Toriel was staring straight ahead. Her face blank, her hands, covered with a pair of white, fluffy mittens, showed her emotions; she was clutching the fabric of her dress in a hard grip.

“I- I didn’t say that.” Her expression didn’t change. “I just told them that … that you would make a better family to them than I could ever be, and they should stay with you instead of running around after me.”

“Then why haven’t you been back?”

“The … landlord isn’t there on Saturdays?” His smile was nervous.

“Would you have come, this Saturday?” she asked, soft, yet cold, like newfallen snow.

He bit his lower lip so hard that he felt a light prickling. “I just … don’t want to disappoint them, Tori.”

“Which you decide to avoid by making sure you disappoint them?” She couldn’t keep the cold façade anymore, her voice was shaking.

“Tori, you know I’m not a good influence for a kid that age.”

“You could be, Sans, you could be! If you just _tried_! But you don’t! I know you’re competent, I know you can hold a normal job, I _know_ you could make an excellent caretaker if you just _stopped insisting on hanging around in backyards and smoke awful smelly cigarettes and live of discarded fast food!_ ”

“Tori, calm down,” he put a hand on her arm, trying to make her lower her voice.

“They haven’t laughed since you were there last,” Toriel’s voice wasn’t just trembling, it was cracking. “They claim to be fine, but they haven’t laughed, their drawings are always either passionless or dark, and they won’t talk to me about it. HOW am I supposed to make a good mother if my child acts like that? Tell me that, Sans.” Her gaze was burning, and Sans pulled backwards, once again about to tumble from the bench. “And the worst thing is, nothing keeps you from coming and cheering them up. You have chosen to step out of their life. Why? Because otherwise you would have to pick up a proper job? Because you can’t take me wanting you to tie your shoelaces? Is that your reason to giving up on Frisk?”

“Toriel …”

She stood up. She was tall, intimidatingly so, staring him down, the headscarf a white spot in the night, the halo of a judgmental angel. “Next time you plan on stepping into someone’s life to abandon them, do everyone a favor, and _stay away._ ”

She turned and left him on the bench, where he looked after her without getting up, hands clenched and eyes stinging.

She was right.

He unzipped his jacket and pulled out the device from the inner pocket, brushing off his hood and placing it around his head, fitting the blue lens over his left eye. Six days, about the same time, though it had been a bit before midnight. He turned the ring around the lens, watching the date and time ticking on the small, blue screen. Like a sixth sense, he could almost feel the time fit into a slot.

His finger hovered over the button. The night was cold, the straps holding the device to his head tightly, the perfect fit for him. Toriel’s words hung in his head, and it was her angry words he heard when he pressed the button.

_They haven’t laughed since._

* * *

The timeline slid from his grip as the numbers ticked backwards, unravelling time and actions around him, and then he sat on the fence and it was dark, a half-burned cigarette between his lips, and a sharp smacking sound told him exactly where and when he was.

He pulled the contraption from his head, stuffed it in his pocket, slid from the fence and killed the cigarette. The door opened, just as he knew it would, and the kid – Frisk – was thrown to the cold, hard ground, followed by the metallic clinking. Sans half heard, half remembered the words shouted at the child on the ground before the door was slammed shut.

He forced himself to stay in the shadows, breathing quietly, resisting the urge to stop the kid from picking at their hurt palms. They would be fine without his betrayal.

They shuffled, sat upright, and wrapped their arms around their knees, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Sans blinked a few times, quickly, and put his hands in his pockets to keep him from rubbing his eyes and getting noticed.

They picked up a stick nearby and poked the ground with it. Sans could see tears, now, making his stomach curl up into a hard, painful lump. He pressed closer to the fence.

The burst of light made Frisk look up, and they scrambled backwards on all four. Sans stopped breathing.

“Are you fucking KIDDING ME?” The voice rumbled through the yard. “You’re STILL HERE? You little …”

Frisk yelped and tried to stumble to their feet. Sans was frozen in place. The figure stormed down the stairs, and a hard slap hit Frisk’s cheek. They tried to crawl backwards, clawing at the ground, and then a punch hit their jaw, and they fell to their elbows.

“You want me to stop? SAY SO!”

They forced out an awkward whimper. The person hit them once, twice, three times, causing blood to run from their nose. Sans could see the assaulter now, a man, large, broad shouldered, head shaved almost bald, the classic bully-grown-up. Sans choked a gasp. Another punch hit. He clenched his fists. He could not just stand there and see the kid being beaten to death.

He took two steps forwards, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

He was interrupted by a yell of pain. This time, it wasn’t Frisk.

The man shouted again, louder and sharper, bending over, clutching his stomach. The next three yells got progressively smaller as he felt forwards. the child kept stabbing long after he had gone still, panic filling their whole body and glowing through their eyes, bringing the sharp kitchen knife down again and again and again.

Sans stood frozen in place, staring at the knife that finally came to a halt. There was blood all the way up to the handle, on the kid’s wounded hands, even dark spots on their face, which was twisted into an expression of horror. They backed away from the body with tiny steps, still clutching the knife.

Then they looked up, and saw Sans, standing in the middle of the yard, shock and disbelief expressed in every part of his body, and they gasped loudly, eyes flickering to the man on the ground.

Sans lifted his hands in front of him. “Whoa, kiddo, c-calm down, we’ll figure this out, somehow.”

“Christian?” a voice called out from inside the apartment, where the door was still halfway opened, sending a stripe of yellow light out, onto the ground, making the blood glister.

The call worked like a whip being sent through the air and hitting the blood-covered child. They stormed forwards. The knife hissed in the air. Sans just barely managed to jump out of the way, only getting his sleeve torn. “Kid, kid, calm down, it’s me, remember?” he jumped backwards, away from the knife as it slashed again. Of course they didn’t remember, it hadn’t happened yet. It hadn’t happened at all.

At the next slash, there was a fence behind Sans, and the knife teared through his jacket, through the shirt, feeling the cold, wet metal cut through his skin, scraping against a rib, then finding a space between the bones, and piercing.

“Christian, what’s going on? Is Chara still out there? Tell him he needs to-” a woman appeared in the doorway, pushing open the door, and illuminating the body on the ground at the foot of the steps.

The child jerked the knife from Sans’ body, turned and ran, sprinting out of the yard, as the woman let out a blood-curling scream that echoed through the yard. Sans felt dizzy, stumbled forwards, clutching his chest where the knife had cut.

“MURDER!” she screeched. “MURDER, MURDERE-“ She noticed Sans, and the word changed into an incoherent scream of pure terror.

Lights were turned on, windows slammed open, the woman closed and locked the door, still screaming behind it, and Sans saw people rush from the windows and to phones and cupboards. He staggered to the side, fumbling inside his jacket, undo, undo, undo. “Police!” someone called out from fourth floor. “POLICE!”

Sans pulled the device from his inner pocket and pulled it over his head. His vision was blurry, his breathing light, he was unable to properly see the numbers on the lens. He didn’t adjust them, just pressed the button, and time disappeared around him as the police sirens sounded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this one is only smoking (and heartbreak, if I managed to achieve what I wanted)

The air was cold. Sans felt his chest before pulling off the contraption, pressing and fumbling and still halfway expected himself to be dead, or at least dying. He wasn’t. Lucky. He had never had any visible wounds while travelling before, his body could very well have stayed in the same state as when he jumped. Seemed like being hungry and tired was a side effect of the device and not caused by some sort of time-travel jetlag. 

Once again, he slid down from the fence, removing the lens from his eye with a trembling hand. He first noticed that he had dropped the cigarette when he noticed it glowing on the ground. He stomped it out the moment the door opened once again. He heard Frisk hit the ground, the knife falling after them, (had they protected themselves? Had the man threatened them with it?) waited for the harsh words to have been spoken. He wanted to rush to their side. The knife was laying an arm’s length away from them, just out of the square of light from the apartment, hidden in the shadows.

Then the door was closed, and the shadows enveloped everything. He sighed with relief and stepped forth.

“Wow, kiddo, that was … wild.”

They scrambled backwards. Sans felt his heart skip a beat when the kid clawed at the ground behind them, closing in on the kitchen knife behind them.

“Hey, no, please, stay away from that thing, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.” This seemed to scare the kid even more, and Sans realized how much it had sounded like a threat. He could have smacked himself. He held his hands up in front of himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean – I am not here to hurt you, okay? I just – you look like you could need some help.” They were still tense, wide-eyed, hands planted behind them, ready to pull away, he needed to get them away from that knife. “Here, let me look at your hands.”

They crawled backwards, and Sans tensed up, but to his relief, their hands scrambled past the knife, and they were still staring at Sans, not the weapon on the ground. He breathed in through his teeth and took a step forwards, making the kid pull even further back, crouched, grabbed the knife’s handle and took it. “Here, let’s just … get this thing out of the way.” He took three steps backwards and looked to the side. The bin. He pulled off the lid and threw the knife in the trash can. “There we go, now-”

Frisk had stumbled to their feet, and now they turned and sprinted out of the yard at a speed that should be impossible for those short legs. Sans reached out a hand. “Hey, wait up!”

And then the kid was gone.

Sans stood, stunned, staring after where Frisk had been a moment ago. It took his mind something near a minute to catch up with what had just happened. His breathing was heavy, deep, his eyes prickling slightly.

The door behind him opened. He turned around and stumbled two steps backwards. The man Sans had just seen die was looking at the ground, searching, then looked up and saw Sans. He narrowed his eyes, glaring.

“This is private property,” he barked.

Sans’ face automatically found an apologetic smile and put it on. “Sorry, I just thought I heard something so I’d just-”

The man’s body language clearly showed that this was the very worst reason for having been in the yard at this time. Sans cursed himself.

“Get OUT of here, before I call the police on you,” he growled, and Sans nodded a bit too eagerly.

As the man watched from the doorway like a looming demon, Sans exited the yard as fast as he could without running. He heard the door slam as he stepped onto the sidewalk. 

He looked to both sides. The street was empty. The kid was long gone.

“Well,” he said, his voice only slightly gravelly. “This … was what you wanted, right?  Nobody is dead, and … the kid doesn’t remember a thing.”

And then, with stinging eyes, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked down the dark, cold street, not even bothering to light up a cigarette.


End file.
